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[hr][center][i][b]• The Eoldysseus - Top Deck, Ifrise Forest[/b], [b]Sovereignty of Dryadalis •[/b][/i] 
[sub][@Lemons] [@Kal-El][/sub][/center][hr]

And in that moment - that long, silent moment - Zestasia heard what he said roll back in his head, repeating over and over again until he realized exactly what had flown by the common sense part of his brain: I actually bad-mouthed the Inquisitors with my words and voice. I didn’t do it in hushed whispers. No, I had said it out loud, allowing any passing guard or passenger to hear.

But did they? That was the question Zestasia’s eyes were asking as they scanned the area. Those curious, blue-as-the-sea eyes had oh-so-carefully gazed from left to right, hoping to the gods above that the wrong person wasn’t doing just as Zes had done and was eavesdropping on an obviously-private conversation between three people who were [i]hopefully[/i] on the same team. Admittedly, Zestasia had jumped the gun and that was on him. 

Sure enough, as he was about his love for the warm sun, Zestasia saw it - well them. The onlookers who had a mixture of wary glances at the heresy that had come from his mouth and down-right awe at how brazen and daring Zestasia proved to be once his mouth had opened. And quite frankly, those two significantly different looks that he received from those who obviously heard him were justified. There wasn’t a cell in his body that was justifying Zestasia’s choice of actions. They only hoped that, with the right explanation and a little luck, that they - yes, because Zestasia was with someone other than his idiotic self, it was more than his ass on the line - could get out of this without being burned at the stake for treason.

Maybe use some of my charm? That could work, right? Or maybe offer myself up as the sacrifice. It was me who spoke those treasonous words, so it’s not like they’re guilty.

Zestasia had spent the next moment or so going over a few ideas. Some seemed likely to work, but it wouldn’t end well for him. Nothing about this would result in him getting the better end of the stick. His only saving grace was for someone to offer up a better solution. Maybe a nice escape route or some sort of distraction that would be just enough to get the three of them out of harm's way. Anything would do. Just, please, let there be a sign.

And just as Zestasia had put the word out there in the known universe, it, in return, sent him a guardian angel, though he wasn’t sure if this was a joke or the universe’s way of having fun at his expense. [color=goldenrod][i]Oh, very funny. I fuck up and you send me a shrimp for a guardian angel. Real clever.[/i][/color] Zestasia wasn’t really laughing at the fact that he bore witness to this crimson-haired, tiny little girl showing how people shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. No, he was more finding that he made a royal fuck up and this person was one of two people that would save the ass of someone who didn’t deserve it.

The second came in the form of one of the two people who had given him such a ‘really dude’ look. This one, to Zestasia’s surprise, had not only been a user of magic just like he was but specialized in ventus. 

This day just keeps getting better and better.

Zestasia not only got that distraction he so desperately hoped for and a definite escape route but -- wait, no, that’s not right. [color=goldenrod]“But you’re a--”[/color] 

Too late. Zestasia, whether he consented or not, was forced to follow the elder blonde woman. Okay, not exactly forced. He could decline, but was that really wise? The short moment that passed after she had used magic and was seen talking to him, he didn’t necessarily have a lot of options. He either stayed and faced the wrath of the tiny, yet scary, a guardian angel that had no qualms of threatening some innocent passengers or he followed and met whatever cruel fate waited for him upstairs.

Time to make a decision, you idiot. Or do you want her to make it for you?

Zestasia looked around. The people who weren’t terrified were certainly doing their best to make their impression of the heretic known. 

Well, Zestasia always did want to see what it was like riding on a barge with the wind in his face and the sun on his skin.

His hesitation waned and Zestasia flew up the stairs in a matter of second. When motivated, he ran like the wind that the blonde lady had at her disposal. And when he made it to the top, the first things he noticed was the beautiful view. With the blueness of the sky and the white clouds spread throughout, the forest the barge was riding through had a majestic, almost surreal glow. 

Even though he shouldn’t, Zestasia took a moment to breathe in the sights. [color=goldenrod]“You know, sometimes you have to enjoy the little things.”[/color] 

Zestasia took in a deep breath, letting the natural scent of the forest overtake him as he closed his eyes. Once he exhaled, he slowly opened them up, turning around to face the wind mage. He had meant to say something clever about the outfit that she was wearing. He knew it looked suspiciously familiar, but his eyes were distracted by someone else. Though the person he saw didn’t ring any bells, there was something familiar about the sword on the man’s back. 

When Zestasia was still a young boy, before the war took his home, his father often read stories of about a sword that was said to be a thing of beauty. It was known as the Durandal. It never resonated with Zestasia, but his brothers seemed to take a liking to the story. Maybe it was the morals of the story or how blood was often shed with it. Zestasia never could remember exactly, but he was pretty sure both of those things resonated with Pagonia and Ouranós respectively. Somehow, both embodied the good and evil of Hellion and somehow, when hell broke loose, true colors were shown

[color=goldenrod]“It was on that day..”[/color] Zestasia murmured lowly, finding himself walking closer to the sight of that sword and further away from the wind mage. 

As he moved another three paces, Zestasia grew closer and closer to the person, their visage resonating with what ZEstasia remembered. Hair that seemed to reflect a stormy sky and a sword that somehow glimmered in that muddy gray. The gold that was spread throughout the silver and shined brilliantly when drawn. It was of legend and yet, as Zestasia was just one foot away from it, arm extended and hand was feeling the texture, he knew it right away. There was this sixth sense that came to Zestasia. The air around him was all-too-familar. This was the Durandal, the famed sword that he vaguely recalled from his childhood. 

But which one was it? Was this Ouranós, the brother who left him with Master Anatoli or was this Pagonia, the brother that had never been seen since that day where all of their lives had been altered and with no way of going back to the way it was.

[color=goldenrod]“This sword..”[/color] Zestasia finally spoke after just standing there for a few, long moments. [color=goldenrod]“There’s only one person who would dare brandish that sword,”[/color] Zestasia spoke loud enough so the swordsman in front of him would hear him. [color=goldenrod]“Isn’t that right?”[/color] That was the last thing Zestasia said before his left fist would absorb the faintest amount of sunlight to give it a faint, golden aura. As soon as he would see this man turn around, the first and only thing he’d find instead of a warm smile that Zestasia wished he could provide, there would be the strongest of left, straight punches aimed at his jaw.